


The House on the Hill

by thebigbengal



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Missing Scene, my life my tapes reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebigbengal/pseuds/thebigbengal
Summary: Dale pays Sarah a visit.





	The House on the Hill

It’s not atypical of an investigator to look in on the family of the deceased. Not a requirement by any means, sometimes not even recommended, but not unheard of either. It was the least Dale could do, really. The Palmers were barely a family anymore, narrowed down to one Sarah Palmer.

He’d be staying in Twin Peaks longer than he’d expected, thanks to his suspension. There was no rush to get over to the house as soon as possible, but if he weren’t a more honest man, he wouldn’t admit to himself of prolonging the meeting a little more than needed.

The Palmer house loomed over the empty street like the owls he spots outside his hotel room window. Both glared at Dale with a threatening kind of patience that set his teeth on edge. He awkwardly stood at the base of the walkway, clenching and unclenching his jaw and hands. He didn’t remember the house feeling this… ill the last time he visited. Each step felt too hard on his feet, and the pure white paint on the siding turned curdled and gray the closer he came to the door chime. The porch floorboards creaked and complained when he and Harry came to give Sarah the bad news, but now they moaned agonizingly.

Dale’s hands seized at the sight of the chime. He regained control with a deep breath, and listened to the bell’s piercing echo. The locks clicked unsteadily in response. A jaded eye peaked through the crack of the door. “Agent Cooper? You’re still in town?”

Dale was a bit taken aback by the sourness in her voice, “My leave has been… put on pause for the time being. Work related concerns. And I thought I’d take the opportunity to check on things.”

Sarah quietly pulled the crack wider, the whole of her sunken face inescapably in Dale’s view. He pulled his lips into a thin smile. “How are you doing, Sarah?”

A moment passed, “I am fine, thank you.” Her gaze flicked all over, then back to Dale.

“Well that’s - that’s good to hear. Are you -” he swallowed, “Do you have anyone to stop by? Make sure everything is taken care of?”

Delicately walking an already decaying line. He cringed, thinking he was coming off as condescending. Sarah’s gaze didn’t break, not for even a second to blink.

“I’m seeing Dr. Jacoby.”

 _Jacoby…_ he thought. Not an answer he liked, but still an answer.

“And a few others as well. The Haywards. Ed offered to make stops for me.”

“Well, that’s good. That’s great.”

“Is Sheriff Truman with you?”

“No, he’s back at the station.”

“Did you ask him to stay?”

Her question caught him off guard. There was nothing particularly upsetting over it, but for whatever reason, Dale struggled to get the words out. “N-no.”

Sarah stood as if looking for something more to say. The seizures in Dale’s hands bit back down. “Do you need to go somewhere? Right this minute?” She asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Would you like to come inside?” Her stare grew pitiful, sad. Familiar. Dale couldn’t say no. Sarah stepped aside and let the agent in.

The house was practically frozen in time. Nothing looked to have been moved in centuries. Sound and air shifted inorganically. The living room and halls could have all been made from plastic and wood-painted sets. He tried imagining Laura running downstairs from her room, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table, and talking about her day at school over dinner with her mother and -

_No… no, no, no, no… BOB. It was BOB. All of it._

Sarah slowly sat down in the center of the couch, straight as an arrow, looking at nothing. Dale walked over in her peripheral and sat just an inch away. The three cushions under them were more sunken into than the rest of the couch. Sarah must be sitting in her usual spot. A little fence was built, confiding Dale to his uncomfortable space. He resisted placing his hand to Sarah’s still form, worried he’d alarm her in some way.

"Would you like anything to eat?" Sarah asked.  
  
Dale hadn't had a proper meal since Leland's death, or possibly Maddy. For days, it had only been weak coffee, the donuts, and something else quickly made and less than appetizing. He hadn't felt much of a need to eat, but now food was entirely removed from his mind. "No thank you. I'm alright."

Sarah squeezed her mouth up into a faint grin that worried Dale more than reassured him. “We would have hot chocolate, here. Every Friday night. For the longest time. Then, I suppose, Laura grew out of it.” She turned slowly to Dale, “Laura grew up so fast.” Her eyes went to a photo on the side table across from them. A little girl in pigtails, sporting a smile bright enough to power an entire major city. Dale could almost hear her whispered voice, clear as a bell.

“About - What you said about Leland… you meant it? Every word?”

Dale’s chest collapsed. He grabbed Sarah’s quaking hand, and leaned into her space. “Yes, every word. Sarah, it -” Something caught her eye, and she drifted off, watching an imaginary figure play in the living room. Dale reached for her shoulder, and then came flashes of something like old photographs or home movies sputtering off the reel. Sarah’s strawberry curled hair fell to raven waves, and her red robe replaced with a tightly knotted apron. Dale shrank to a young boy that fitted the small divot in the cushion perfectly. Sarah’s new face faded into the dark, and Dale squeezed her hand tighter to regain it.

“I heard it was going to rain tonight. Laura loved the rain.” The woman spoke in Sarah’s voice. Instantly, Dale's attention was pulled from her and to the staircase. He still held Sarah’s hand, but slid slightly to the edge of the couch. The pull grew stronger. Dale released his grip on Sarah, forgetting she was still sitting there, like a doll.

The stairwell didn’t appear like it belonged in the house. Light bent around incorrect corners and shined too brightly on the walls at this time of day. The ceiling fan spun at a decent pace, but sped up and slowed down when stared at for too long. Then the dark blades merged together, faster and faster, burning into a halo in the ceiling, then broke up again, buzzing like a giant wasp in Dale’s ear. He pushed up the well, tracing an invisible path and counting the thuds his foot made on the wood under the shag carpeting. The first floor left his mind all together.

Up he climbed, following the solid rays of light, until he landed on the top floor and faced a hallway lined with doors. Bathroom, a linen closet, a guest bedroom double-timing as an at-home office, the parent’s bedroom, and then…

Tiny, pink cursive lettering spelled out her name right beside Dale’s head. He didn’t think to reach the door knob; it automatically turned in his grasp until a dull _clunk_ momentarily broke the fan’s droning.

It appeared Sarah might have tried fixing up the tiny, pink room once forensics finished carefully rummaging through in search of leads. Not much was moved to begin with, so Laura's presence was still, for lack of a better term, fresh. A thin layer of dust covered the back corners of the drawer top, and the bed sheets were somewhat crumpled, like she had recently laid down on top of them. School papers, books, makeup and jewelry were left scattered on the vanity set. Jackets, wool sweaters and colorful hats hung on the bed posts for easy access the next morning. Stuffed animals were placed on the toy chest and in a wicker chair right beside it. Yellowing polaroids wedged under the lamp on the bedside table showed bright, young faces, no more than middle school age, some too baby-cheeked to recognize at first glance.

_Bobby Briggs and James Hurley… in sweaters and braces._

He’d chuckle had the blaring ceiling fan not warned him against it. His eye followed to the framed photos of a small girl enjoying a day at the stables with her parents and her new pony, on her twelfth birthday. Dale remembered its name as Troy, who met a sad end. Beside that, a young Maddy in a pair of large, circled glasses and a braided ponytail with a toddler Laura in her lap, sharing the same wide, long-toothed grin. 

Every story in her diary, little details written and not, but he could see right before him, cropped up in each facet of this place. His legs grew tired, but he refused to sit.

The blackened memory of a nightmare turned his attention to a single window on the opposite wall. He gulped, senses tingling like frazzled electrical circuits. The room’s own fan was off, but felt like it would spin off it's nails and drop onto Dale's head. The window stretched into the doorway of a room in a house that he hadn’t thought about in ages. A man hid in the dark of the hall, waiting.

He’d left the door open… **he’d left the door open…**

Feet drawing near, step by step. Dale felt himself shrink again, only on the inside, lungs coming to a halt.

“You should leave.”

The dark room flashed pink again, the door once more a window framed by doiled curtains. He spun around to find a pair of threatened and betrayed eyes in the threshold. Sarah’s frown took up half her face. Dale blinked and said nothing, just a tiny nod at her demand, and he shuffled off down the stairs, past the living room, and out the door to his car. He didn’t turn to see Sarah watching him the whole way, neither did he look up at his rear view mirror to see the house vanish over the horizon, hoping it would be the last time he’d see it.


End file.
